“The honly brother as ever I ’ad was a
infant as died and—­but wot was you saying
about a winder?”

“Nothin’!”

“Come, speak up, you young vagabone—­”
began Mr. Brimberly, his whiskers suddenly fierce
and threatening, but just then, fortunately for Spike,
the door swung, open, and Mr. Ravenslee entered.

And lo! what a change was here! The battered
hat, the faded muffler and shabby clothes seemed only
to show off all the hitherto hidden strength and vigour
of the powerful limbs below; indeed it almost seemed
that with his elegant garments he had laid aside his
lassitude also and taken on a new air of resolution,
for his eyes were sleepy no longer, and his every
gesture was lithe and quick. So great was the
change that Spike stared speechless, and Mr. Brimberly
gaped with whiskers a-droop.

“Strangely enough, Spike, I rather feel that
way too!” So saying, Mr. Ravenslee took a pipe
from the rack, filled it with quick, energetic fingers,
and proceeded to light it, watched in dumb amaze by
the gaping Brimberly.

“Brimberly,” said he, “I shall probably
return to-morrow.”

“Yes, sir,” said he faintly.

“Or the day after.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Or the day after.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Or the day after that; anyhow, I shall probably
return. Should any one call—­business
or otherwise—­tell ’em to call again;
say I’m out of town—­you understand?”

“Out of town—­certingly, sir.”

“Referring to—­to the matter we talked
of to-night, Brimberly—­”

“Meaning the hobject, sir?”

“Precisely! Don’t trouble yourself
about it.”

“No, sir?”

“No, Brimberly—­I’m going to
try and find one for myself.”

“Ho—­very good, sir!”

“And now,” said the new Mr. Ravenslee,
laying one white, ringless hand on Spike’s shoulder
and pointing toward the open door with the other,
“lead on—­young Destiny!”

CHAPTER IV

TELLING HOW HE CAME TO HELL’S KITCHEN AT PEEP O’ DAY

It was past three o’clock and dawn was at hand
as, by devious ways, Spike piloted his companion through
that section of New York City which is known to the
initiated as “Hell’s Kitchen.”
By dismal streets they went, past silent, squalid
houses and tall tenements looming grim and ghostly
in the faint light; crossing broad avenues very silent
and deserted at this hour, on and on until, dark and
vague and mysterious, the great river flowed before
them only to be lost again as they plunged into a